The grasslands were a vast, wild, and breathtaking expanse of territory. In the full bloom of summer, they were a sea of emerald green, the wind whipping through the tall stalks with a sound like rushing water. The air was thick with the scent of wild grass and the sharp, floral perfume of highland blooms, radiating a raw, untamed beauty that stretched to the sun-scorched horizon.
But once autumn's chill set in and the harsh winter followed, that beauty withered into nothing. The land transformed into a barren, frozen wasteland where the soil cracked under the biting frost and not even the hardiest weeds dared to sprout. For the nomads who called this place home, these seasons brought only grueling hardship and a gnawing hunger that ate at their resolve. For generations, this cycle had bred an ancient, instinctual impulse that thrummed deep in their veins:
To march south.
Now, for the first time in decades, the grasslands were united under a single banner. The scattered tribes, once constantly warring with each other for water and grazing rights, now shared one clear, burning goal: they would descend upon the southern lands. There lay the fertile realm of the Wei people, a land of warm rains and rich, black soil where the bellies of the children never went hungry.
This unity was a recent, hard-won thing. Just over ten years earlier, two mighty warriors had risen from obscurity. Over the last decade, they had crushed defiant warlords and scattered rival clans, gradually stitching the fractured steppe into one cohesive force. Now, their armies stood strong and their blades were sharpened. Their ambition burned brighter than any campfire on a cold, moonless night.
To make matters worse, the heavens themselves had turned strange. The bitter north now groaned under the monsters' weight. Terrifying beasts warped by the celestial changes prowled the edges of the camps, their eyes glowing in the dark. For the tribes of the steppe, this was no blessing, but a final push toward survival. Their urgency grew with each passing day. The time to ride south had come. With Great Wei fractured and crumbling from within under a greedy emperor who drained the nation to its marrow, there might never be a better chance.
Inside the great command tent, the smell of scorched leather and old sweat hung in the air. Each tribe's chieftains sat stiff and silent, their gazes fixed on the two figures seated at the head of the gathering.
They were known simply as the Flame and Earth Elders, the strongest cultivators the steppe had ever produced. It was by their sheer power that unruly chiefs had been subdued and the chaotic grasslands brought to heel. Though neither man bore the title of khan, their authority was absolute, second to none in the eyes of the warriors.
"The southern campaign offers us two primary routes," one of their strategists began, unrolling a map made of cured hide that creaked as it flattened. "We may strike directly at Shanling Pass, shattering the Wei court's central defenses while their civil strife rages. If we pierce Wei's heart, we could seize the entire empire in one swift..."
"Enough," came a curt, sizzling interruption.
The Flame Elder raised his hand. The air in the tent grew heavy with a palpable, searing heat that made the chieftains wipe beads of moisture from their brows. The strategist fell silent immediately, his mouth snapping shut.
"We begin with Prince Yong's Eight Provinces," the elder declared. "That region suits us best."
The chieftains exchanged wary glances, shifting in their seats as the heavy wool of their robes scratched against their skin, but none dared to object. They all knew that without the two elders' overwhelming strength, any assault on the main Wei border fortresses would descend into a prolonged, bloody stalemate. Their silence was, in truth, a quiet relief.
"Prince Yong's domain bridges the grasslands and the desert," the Earth Elder added. His voice was a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very ground beneath the tent. "It shall become a crucial trade hub in the years to come. Once it's under our rule, the wealth it brings will flow without end."
"Besides," the Flame Elder said with a sneer, his eyes glinting with a sharp malice, "the Prince Yong lineage has a long history of clashing with the imperial court. If anything, the emperor would prefer to see that bloodline wiped from the earth."
The tent fell still again. The elders' words echoed like a grim prophecy. Prince Yong's Eight Provinces were indeed desirable: fertile, strategic, and politically isolated. But a few of the sharper chieftains wondered why the elders had shown no interest in the richer Wei heartland.
The reason was simple. They feared the Demon Queen.
Though both elders had reached the late stages of Qi Refining and cultivated unique, ancient arts that allowed them to challenge even a Foundation Establishment cultivator, before the Demon Queen, their combined strength was nothing but dust in the wind. They had survived the old age of chaos only by hiding away, sealing themselves within two ancient crystals for countless years.
Had fortune not smiled upon them, they would have perished long ago. Even now, though the Queen must have cut her own cultivation down to survive into this new era, they dared not provoke her. It was far safer to strike at Prince Yong's line than to risk the wrath of a woman who once stood unshaken among the world's titans.
What the chieftains didn't know was that the elders had already pledged themselves to her. In exchange for sparing their lives and granting them a place to rise again, she had demanded one thing: the annihilation of Prince Yong's entire lineage.
It was inconvenient for her to act directly, as her royal title and various political entanglements restrained her hand. The dirty work, therefore, fell to them. In return, the Eight Provinces would be theirs to rule. Though its true potential had yet to bloom, in a century or two, it will become a cornerstone of their power.
"Prepare the troops," the Earth Elder ordered, his voice final and heavy. "When the spring thaw arrives, we ride. The Eight Provinces shall be ours."
"Yes, Elder," came the unified, thunderous reply from the chieftains.
A decision had been made. The path was set. Now, all that remained was the conquest.
-
In a quiet side hall of Prince Yong's estate, Su Min inhaled deeply. The rare herbs' scent and the tang of molten metal filled her lungs.
"Three classics of the third grade," she murmured to herself. Her eyes narrowed in assessment at the three pills resting in her palm.
They were the Detoxification Pill, the Healing Pill, and the Spirit Recovery Pill. They were basic staples in any alchemist's arsenal. But these weren't ordinary. All three were stable, high-quality Grade Three Pills: proof that she had formally stepped into the ranks of a third-grade alchemist. She was still far from crafting the legendary Foundation Establishment Pill, however. Even with Prince Yong's vast support, the materials needed for such a feat were rare beyond belief.
A polite cough came from the doorway. "Lady Su, the new batch of materials has arrived."
"Tch."
Su Min casually swept the three pills into her storage pouch. She rarely needed them herself, but that didn't mean they had no value. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned three weapons that materialized in the air before her. Two long spears and a slender sword appeared, the cold steel shimmering and humming with contained spiritual energy.
"Bring those three brats to see me," she commanded without looking up, her focus already on the next task. "Quickly."
The steward bowed and turned to leave. As he did, she gestured, and the stack of material crates lifted from his assistants' hands and floated into her chamber. She tossed a small porcelain vial back to the steward. Inside were four newly refined Qi Induction Pills.
At present, only three of Prince Yong's men had reached the Qi Refining stage. The others weren't yet ready to break through, so giving them the pills now would be a waste of resources. Still, she continued to refine them. Such pills were never truly excess. No matter how advanced the world became, their value would remain constant. As for the three young men she had summoned, she had finished forging their weapons.
[Frostbane Sword (Yellow Tier, Mid-Grade): Enhances ice-attribute techniques.]
[Galebreaker Spear (Yellow Tier, Mid-Grade): Enhances wind-attribute techniques.]
[Emberpike Spear (Yellow Tier, Mid-Grade): Enhances fire-attribute techniques.]
They were simple, brutal, and effective. With her current skill, she couldn't craft anything too elaborate. But for cultivators in the Qi Refining or early Foundation Establishment stage, these weapons were more than sufficient. They would struggle against a Golden Core cultivator, but they would still far outperform any ordinary arm.
The three young men gawked, their eyes wide and shining as they beheld the weapons arrayed before her. The cold steel of the Frostbane Sword seemed to draw the warmth from the air, while the spears hummed with a restless energy. Ever since the awakening of the Heavenly Revelations, it had been the youth who forged ahead most passionately, and these three were no exception. Though not yet seasoned veterans, they brimmed with raw enthusiasm. The sight of such powerful, personalized spiritual weapons left them utterly awestruck, staring like lovestruck fools before a goddess.
As for Su Min herself, they barely seemed to register her presence, not because she lacked beauty, but because they instinctively regarded her with a reverence usually reserved for a respected elder or a strict teacher. Yet, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, a flicker of pure annoyance stirred in her heart.
Just a little.